Chapter 6 - THE CELLULAR RECKONINGTwo weeks later, the holding facility in Queens was cold, gray, and smelled perpetually of bleach and despair.
When the heavy steel door buzzed open, Daniel sat behind the reinforced glass partition of the visitation booth. His custom designer suits were gone, replaced by a coarse, bright orange jumpsuit. His hair was unwashed, and the smug arrogance that had defined his double life had completely dissolved into pathetic, hollow terror.
When he saw me walk into the booth, he leaped to his feet with a manic gasp, slamming his cuffed hands against the thick glass.
"Claire!" Daniel screamed into the wall phone, his voice muffled by the acoustic barrier as my handset buzzed.
I picked it up slowly, holding his desperate, bloodshot gaze through the glass.
"Drop the charges!" Daniel sobbed into his receiver, spittle flying against the partition. "We're married! You loved me! Please, tell them it was a joke—an experiment!"
"An experiment," I repeated coldly, my voice steady and resonant. "You monetized my mother's death. You filmed my panic attacks and sold them to strangers to pay for your lifestyle. You are facing twenty years for wire fraud, non-consensual pornography dissemination, and psychological abuse."
Daniel’s face twisted into a mask of pure fury. He slammed his fists against the glass again and again.
"You selfish, cold-hearted bitch!" he shrieked, his voice cracking into high-pitched hysteria. "You ruined my life!"
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"No, Daniel," I said softly. "I just finally gave your audience what they paid to see."
I hung up the handset, ignoring his frantic, muffled screams, and turned away from the glass.
